The Sun, Yet My Heart Still Beats
by Araceli L
Summary: A harrowing narrative on the life of a - shall we politely say - disturbed individual and the people he affected and effected him. I hate effect/affect. an AU Smash story, heavily inspired by the gritty side of a realistic idea of Smash. Also, my return to writing Smash fiction. Hello my pretties! Ace is back in action!


**The Sun and My Heart**

The sky was blue, as this is how things go, and I could, of course, start off by saying I had no idea what was to happen to me this day and how I was to end up where I was, but whenever the sky is blue this seems repetitive, no?

The story I'm about to tell you does not revolve around my intentions, despite what the others will try to tell you. It doesn't talk about my negotiations, my pleads, my dread and over all my doom. All it tells you is what I've done to cause that blue sky.

Right now I could look up and wonder what the hell I've done, but I can't.

Sighing into the silence, I wished I could see the blue sky again.

_what have I done?_

The rain was pounding on my head, dripping through my hood and plastering my hair to my face. It was nice that it was raining. It would shield me against the sun that was her face.

Because I knew, when I finally looked at the sun, it would turn me blind.

Blind, blind in all it's anger as I squinted cautiously at her, hoping my rainclouds would block the sharp rays enough, but deep down right now I knew they wouldn't.

I can't still pretend, can I?

I stuck my hand out into the street, stopped a cab and slid in. I'd been praying for rain, harder and harder as her face got brighter and brighter, tearing us apart far more than she secretly whispered under her breath as I left every morning.

_It's tearing us apart, you know._

Of course I fucking knew, I screamed at her as she stared, stoic, at the table, at her nails, out the window of the car while I bit my own tongue in an attempt to shut up. Or shut the hell up, as she'd once dared to tell me. I'd taught her a lesson, like I'd taught her to quit smoking.

Sitting quietly in the back of the taxi, smelling the city's blend of everybody's and everything's scent, I remembered seeing her light the cigarette, putting up her feet with a lackadaisical expression on her face. I remembered how angry it made me to see that stupid look on her face, like she didn't give a single fuck and how she just lit her cigarette and hushed.

In the back seat of the taxi, a small smile cracked my chapped lips.

To tell you I am sinless is futile, I know. I could insist to you I am but I realize that there's no point. Like a hot court room filled with twelve stuffy jurors, nothing would be accomplished.

Useless, just like every part of me is now. It's sort of like being my own reflection – I'm nothing more than a mirage, unable to move without something in front of me.

My heart stutters, once, twice. It beats.

My heart still beats.

_What have I done?_

I left the taxi to walk the remaining few blocks to our townhouse. The silence of her getting out of the car was deafening, painful to listen to, which made the back of my neck hurt. It solidified between us like a perfect glass wall we could see our own reflections in, and I went up the steps, feeling the ground beneath my feet, the rusty handle beneath my fingers, the fur of our shoddy dog as he rubbed happily between my legs, and her nervousness behind me.

I stood at the kitchen counter and felt the linoleum underneath my palms, gripping the underside in my fingers. I was angry, angry, angry. Splinters fell away as my nails dug further into the counter, and behind me I heard her set her bag down, rummage about, walk to the couch – click went her heels – prop those bitches up on the table and the flicker of the lighter.

I turned to her, eyes partly closed, and saw the flame burst forth in a perfect teardrop, to lean forward and steal a kiss from the cancer stick between her fingers.

The next thing I realized I had lunged at her, and she was screaming bloody murder underneath my hands.

Sometimes I wonder what my mother must have thought of me.

Did she love me? Did she enjoy seeing me suckle at her breast, lovingly nuzzle her cheek against my soft head? Did she like playing with my tiny feet, making raspberries on my pudgy belly?

Of course, I suppose every child wonders at one point what their parents must have thought of them. I know they could have asked, but like me they must not have, though probably for very different reasons.

But how the hell should I know? I'm having a hard time recalling memories, in my state.

My father pounded his cane against the floor, bellowing my name into the house. "Bring me the fucking beer, boy! We have a guest!"

I hurriedly jumped off my stool, heart beating rapidly, and ran to the kitchen as though time itself was against me and the world depended on it.

When I returned, my father was wiping his eternally red and fatty face, looking apologetically at the guest that sat next to my mother at the table. The guest gave a bit of a grimace back, and as for my mother, she made no move at all.

I handed the bottle to my father, then rushed it over to the tall guest, who slicked his hair back and took it with his first finger and thumb, as though it was dirty, and I knew it was not as my father kept boasting about how much it had cost. My mother had quietly raised her head, and I saw her expression for a mere second, more than I ever saw her let my father see, and she opened her mouth to say how it had cost next week's supper. She had gotten her rightful punishment for that.

Now, when my father pridefully mentioned the quality, she raised her head but did not allow her face to change.

My father handed my sister a lighter, and she quietly smoothed her skirt and took it, leaning forward to light his cigarette. His eyes, dark and misshapen like lumps of coal in a puddle of mud, twinkled, as though he was proud of her new abilities; just the right kind of abilities the man across the table might want to take her as a wife for.

I can no longer make noise, nor can I hear it.

I know this is her plan, to make me sit here in remorse, without hearing, without sight, without movement. I know she wants me to feel sorry.

But I'm not.

_What have I done?_

I got out of the taxi, walking the last few blocks to our townhouse. And when I was far enough I took out my shotgun, aimed, and shot the driver in the back of the head.

Grinning like a mad man I ran, hearing screams and yells and confusion and glorious, glorious chaos, oh the sun wouldn't know what to do, she'd have no idea AND I WAS SO FREE!

_What Have I Done?_

And after I was free, I was trapped; it happened after I came home and her face was bright and terrified. She was anxious but there for me; I didn't lie to her and she grew brighter still. For a second I thought it would overpower me, but I managed to hold on to the rainclouds around me and I was able to fight through it.

And ever since then I've been praying for rain.

So why, you ask, am I here? Well, let me tell you.

_ WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!_

She screamed, her face brighter than I'd ever seen. I'd never seen her turn on me, turn into the sun like this, and she shrieked at me when I asked how she did it. She slapped me and I laughed, allowing my legs to give out. She stood above me and cried to the ceiling above us, that ceiling she always called "God" and asked why she...why she what? Became...what? Did this deed?

_WHY DID I BECOME LIKE YOU?! _

And she kicked me, and I was so thrilled to be punished again, she was my father and mother rolled into one, yes, I had done bad, I was finally getting what I deserved, justice was back in the world.

I did what I did so I could be punished.

And then the sun tore me apart. She took me to her world, where she threw me to the ground and made the rain come, but it wasn't the veiling rain, it was rain that stripped me bare and made me naked as the baby that had come from my mother. It opened my abrasions and she threw salt in them, she spit on me and her face was nothing but white light. It was hot as a fire, like those fucking cigarettes, and I prayed for my old rain. I wanted the veil, not this pain, not the uselessness, not the lack of feeling as she tore off my limbs. I could no longer move, no longer shoot, no longer strike. She bit off my ears and swallowed them whole, and I could hear into her stomach and then nothing at all. No more yelling and no more flickers of crackling fire. Then my fingers were ripped off one by one from my dismembered hands and I was both surprised and delighted to realize I still had feeling. She was bright, so bright, she was the sun personified and she drenched in me in painful, temperate light, unforgiving and brash.

"My heart still beats," I chuckled, then heard her rumbling response from her belly:

"I shall make it so, so you can live the reminder of your life with nothing but remorse."

I saw her lips move, and opened mine, but then her lips where on mine and mine were gone.

She grinned and swallowed down my lips, my mouth and teeth disappearing down the sun's throat. Then she displayed her fangs and off went my nose.

I saw, and there was nothing but light to see, nothing but her eyes a color I had never seen and can never describe, I could only describe in my head as "sun spot" and then I felt claws and could see no more.

Now I sit where I am, and I can do naught but think.

What have I done?

**A/N: Hey guys, did ya miss me? :) well here I am, back with some crazy tales, and honestly for this piece I wanted to write something "Smashy" as I described it to MoD, so I took from the violent and dysfunctional nature of the Smash characters to create this weird piece. I hope you liked my turn to the darker side of things, and I'd be thrilled if you left me a review.**

**If I had to choose a character, I'd pick Ganon and Peach. They fit for me, but in all I think it can be whoever you want. **

**Great to be writing again. **

**Love always,**

**~Araceli L**


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